The Song of the Thrush

by Christine Pope

  Well, I would have to prove to him that I could be useful, even if I had only the haziest idea of how to make myself an asset to our new household, and perhaps not as much desire to do so as I should. It still rankled that I should have to perform such chores, even though I knew that standing in the kitchen and pouting about my situation would do nothing to make it any easier.

  Corin had already washed the dishes, but I found a clean cloth to finish drying them, and then set them back in the cupboard, as I did with the goblets. Putting them away made me think of the dinner my husband and I had shared the night before. It had started out so well, but by the end, he was less than pleased with me.

  I could not go back and alter the words we had exchanged, so the only option I had going forward was to try to make him see it was not that I found him unappealing in any way — quite the opposite, in fact — but only that I needed time to come to terms with my new life. Once the two of us had begun to know each better, then I truly believed I could be happy with him…or at least as happy as I would ever be in such a rustic existence, deprived of all the fine things I had grown up thinking were my right.

  Since we had cleaned the evening before, I did not have a great deal to do, actually. I thought of my other gown, the one I had worn as I left my father’s castle, and wondered if I should attempt to launder it. The water Corin had brought did not seem as if it would be sufficient to the task, but I supposed I needed to see if there was a wash basin anywhere in the cottage. We would need one to take our baths as well, for of course this humble little dwelling did not have anything like the beautiful built-in tub of fine marble that I had once taken so much for granted.

  Thinking of that bathtub, and of the luxury of having servants to heat the water and fill it, caused me to heave quite the heavy sigh. There were so many commonplaces of life that servants made so much easier! And now I would have to be the servant for both my husband and myself, for he had his own work to do, and it fell to me to become the drudge.

  I realized I was teetering nearly on the brink of despair, and tears began to sting my eyes. While I knew that weeping would certainly not do me any good, it was harder than I’d thought to force those tears away. A great lump grew in my throat, and one or two of the dreadful little things began to trail their way down my cheeks. I reached up to blot them and tried to tell myself that I was being very foolish, and not at all how a daughter of the house of Sedren should be comporting herself.

  This internal scolding did not have the desired effect, unfortunately. Those first few tears were followed by more, and soon enough I had a veritable river flowing down my face. What made the situation even worse was that I did not have a handkerchief, for I had not thought to bring any with me. I supposed I could look in Corin’s pack to see if he had any cloths I could use, but that seemed like a terrible intrusion. He certainly had not given me leave to paw through his things.

  After a moment, I realized I could use the dishcloth, which I had left hanging from a hook in the kitchen so it might dry. I left the main room and went in search of the dishcloth, and then used it to blot my eyes as best I could. At least the cloth was already damp, and so if Corin came home now for any reason, he wouldn’t think it strange that the fabric wasn’t dry.

  Of course, that didn’t help me with what I was sure must be a pair of reddened eyes. The cottage didn’t have a mirror — they were far too costly — but I guessed that I must look quite the fright. I went back into the room where I had slept and made up the bed, since that would give me something to do. While the result was somewhat lumpy, and nothing like the smooth perfection my old bed used to be when the maids were finished with it, at least it was a task I could manage on my own. When I was done, I stood at the window and looked out at the bright morning, forcing myself to breathe calmly and to let the sunlight touch my face, warm, reassuring.

  Doing so did help me to calm down somewhat. Once I was sure that I wouldn’t dissolve into another bout of tears, I went into Corin’s room, thinking I could make his bed as well. Of course he had already taken care of that particular chore — and much more neatly than I had with my own narrow bed. Who knew that making up a bed required such particular skills?

  Although I knew I should leave, go back to the kitchen and look for a wash basin, something compelled me to go to the wardrobe and open its door. Inside hung several heavy linen shirts similar to the one Corin had worn the day before, and a linen vest and doublet, both looking rather wrinkled. He must have had them in his pack, choosing to wear the sturdier suede weskit as he traveled.

  I reached out and touched the sleeve of one of the shirts, feeling the slight roughness of the fabric under my fingertips. In that moment, I experienced such a wave of longing, I almost began to weep again. How foolish I had been! For I was Corin’s wife, and I should not have denied him. Exactly what I was denying him, I still did not precisely know, but this was certainly not a normal state of affairs. The night before I had pleaded for more time, true, and yet now I did not know precisely what I was waiting for. It was not as if I could go back to the life I had before. I must embrace the future, and that future meant Corin.

  A very fine sentiment, and one easy enough to form while I was here alone. Whether I would be able to hold on to that resolve when he was once again in my presence, I had no idea. Indeed, I did not even know whether he would come home to have his luncheon, or whether he would take it in the field with the rest of the workers.

  Someone knocked at the door then, and I startled. Who on earth could be coming to visit me here?

  Perhaps it is someone with your allotment of food, I told myself. Master Brinsell did say that someone would be by with that today.

  This seemed the most reasonable explanation for a visitor, although I was not precisely cheered at the thought of a food delivery the way some people might be. Once I had accepted the food and brought it into my kitchen, that meant I must do something with it.

  Still, it would be the height of rudeness to leave whoever was at the door waiting there indefinitely while I dithered. I closed the wardrobe and hurried to the front door, then quickly opened it.

  Standing outside was a young woman probably a few years older than myself, with an enormous basket dangling from one arm. She was taller than I, dark-haired like most Sirlendians, but with unusual hazel-green eyes. I would not say she was precisely pretty, for her nose was too long and her mouth somewhat wide, but perhaps most observers would be so mesmerized by her eyes that they would not pay attention to the rest of her features.

  She smiled at me, showing off uneven but very white teeth. “Are you Marenna Blackstone?”

  I was tempted to ask who else she thought I might be, but realized that would be a foolish way to begin our acquaintance. This young woman might end up being an ally, or even a friend.

  I thought I could use a friend in this place.

  Smiling, I replied, “Yes, I am. Please, come in.”

  She came into the cottage’s main room and gave a frankly appraising look around. “I hadn’t thought you would be able to get it cleaned up so quickly.”

  “Oh, it was mostly dust and cobwebs.” I thought it better not to mention that my husband had done the bulk of the work, since I could not be sure whether such a revelation would make her think less of me. “And you are…?”

  Another flash of a smile. “I am Lynnis Oakfell. My husband has worked the land here for ten years.”

  Lynnis certainly didn’t look old enough to me to have been married for ten years, unless she had come here as a child bride. But quite possibly they had wed after her husband had already been employed at the estate for some time.

  “It is very nice to meet you, Mistress Oakfell. Please, let me take that basket from you.”

  This time I was the one on the receiving end of the appraising glance, rather than the house. “It is quite heavy. Why don’t you let me take it into the kitchen?”

  I didn’t argue; she knew far better than I how much that basket must
weigh. “That’s very kind of you. Please, come this way.”

  She followed me into the kitchen and set the basket down on the counter. Once again she glanced around, those lively hazel eyes taking in every detail. I sent a silent thank-you to the gods that I had taken the time to finish tidying up in here, for I doubted she could find much that was amiss.

  “So your husband is the new under-overseer?”

  “For now,” I said. “I suppose we shall have to see what happens when the former under-overseer recovers from his injury.”

  “Master Threnson,” Lynnis supplied. “He never cared all that much for the work, to be honest. My husband and I both think he broke his leg on purpose.”

  “Oh, that cannot be true,” I protested, even though her words kindled new hope within me. If this Master Threnson truly had no taste for his work with the vines, then perhaps Corin had a true chance of being able to keep his position permanently.

  She grinned. “Oh, it most certainly is. And Hal and I also think Master Threnson is hoping that his Grace will compensate him handsomely for his injury, enough so he will be able to go off and make his fortune in the city.” A slight wrinkling of her nose told me how much she thought of this scheme.

  “You do not care for cities?”

  “Oh, no,” she replied at once. “Hal took me to Iselfex once, told me I must see it, as it’s said to be one of the wonders of the world. Well, the buildings are very fine — at least in the districts where the nobles have their town houses — but gods, all those people packed together! Combined with the stink off the river in the heat of the summer, the smell of it nearly knocked me down. I was glad to come back here to Marric’s Rest and breathe good country air, that is for certain. And I have no desire to leave ever again.”

  Since I hadn’t been to the capital since I was a little girl, I couldn’t comment on her observations of the place. Certainly I did not remember it being so foul, but then, we had visited in the autumn, when it was cooler, and besides, we had not gone about in the poorer sections of the city.

  “Were you born here on the estate?” I inquired.

  “Yes, as was Hal. We grew up together, and so it made sense for us to marry.”

  I supposed it would. If I had had a friend who was a boy, who had been my partner in childhood games, would I have also wished for him to be my partner in life once I was grown?

  Perhaps. It didn’t really matter, however, for of course there had not been anyone like that for me. “And Lord Sorthannic is a good master?”

  I had taken care to keep my tone as neutral as possible while I asked the question, but all the same, Lynnis lifted an eyebrow at me, as though she guessed there was some subtext to the inquiry beyond simple curiosity. “Oh, yes,” she replied. “Now, of course he didn’t grow up here, but came to us from South Eredor, where his father lived in exile. But after his Grace had finished his sword training with Duke Senric, he came here to take over the estate. He’s done very well, even if he wasn’t raised to it from the beginning, so to speak.”

  The story wasn’t completely unfamiliar to me, although I was forced to admit that I had not paid as much attention to Lord Sorthannic’s unorthodox past as perhaps I might. “His mother was a commoner, I believe?”

  Once again, Lynnis arched her eyebrow, even as I belatedly realized that someone married to a farm worker most likely did not often employ the term “commoner.” To my relief, however, she appeared to let it go, saying, “Yes. Her family was prosperous, though, from what I’ve heard, had owned vineyards in South Eredor for generations. That was why Lord Sorthannic was so eager to try growing his own grapes here — he already knew a great deal about the process and thought he should be successful.”

  “And so he is.”

  Although I had not phrased the words as a question, Lynnis seemed to take them as such. “Very much so. The vines are young compared to some in the south, but they’ve done well. Our wines are much in demand in the capital. Not that his Grace has need of the money, because of course he inherited such a fine estate, but it helps all the rest of us. He pays the workers well, gives us a place to live and food for our table.” Her gaze moved to the basket sitting on the counter. “Perhaps I should help you with that.”

  “Oh, it’s not necessary — ” I began, but she waved a hand.

  “It’s my pleasure. I already have today’s chores managed at my own cottage, and with Hal off in the fields and not due to come back until sundown, I might as well do something to amuse myself.”

  “So the workers don’t come home for their luncheon?”

  “No. But,” she added quickly, perhaps wanting to make sure I knew this was no real hardship, “the kitchens in the castle always send down a fine spread for them, so I daresay they fare better than we do. But let us get all this put away.”

  Before I could stop her, she began emptying the basket, bringing out all manner of foodstuffs — potatoes and carrots and fine red apples, and a small bag of flour, a jar of honey, and so much more that I began to wonder if a spell had been placed on the basket so its inside was larger than its outside. Not that anyone in Sirlende would dare to work such a spell, for magic was strictly forbidden here. Even so….

  With a brisk economy of movement that told me she had a great deal of practice in such things, Lynnis put all the food away in the cupboards, and the small squishy packet she said was a good cut of meat for stew in the cold larder, so it might not spoil. Of course, I hadn’t the faintest idea how to make stew, although I thought that perhaps the meat should go in a pot with the potatoes and carrots…after they had all been cut into small pieces.

  “You seem rather lost, Marenna,” Lynnis remarked as she turned back to me.

  “Oh, I am just unfamiliar with this kitchen and perhaps still wearied from my journey yesterday.”

  Although these explanations sounded perfectly rational to me, it seemed that my companion wasn’t quite convinced. “Have you ever made stew?”

  “Well….” It was on the tip of my tongue to hand her an easy lie, but if she asked any further questions, she would at once know the depths of my prevarication. “No,” I said miserably.

  Surprise flashed in her big hazel eyes, but she only said, “Do you know how to cook anything?”

  Mutely, I shook my head.

  To my consternation, Lynnis chuckled. “Oh, your husband has quite a bargain in you, hasn’t he? It’s a good thing you’re so beautiful.”

  Since she had tempered her insult with a compliment, I did not know how I should respond. My first instinct had been to say that of course I had never learned to cook, because I had always had servants to take on those tasks for me. However, Corin and I had agreed during our journey here that we would not speak of my origins, so I knew I would have to give Lynnis a different story.

  “I — I was raised by a stepmother,” I lied, remembering my promise to come up with a sensible explanation for my lack of domestic skills. “She did not care for me, and went out of her way to make sure I knew as little about being a good wife as possible. I was forbidden to set foot in the kitchen, and so I never learnt how to cook. The only reason I am handy with my needle is that I was able to spy on her as she sewed by the fireplace at night, and perhaps had a natural aptitude for the work, but I fear that I am not, as you said, much of a ‘bargain’ when it comes to anything else.”

  “Oh, well,” Lynnis said, her tone brisk, as if she did not wish for me to burden her with my tale of woe. “That is too bad, but perhaps we can strike something of a bargain. I am a very good cook, but I have never been good at the needle arts. If I teach you how to cook, will you school me in the mysterious art of sewing? I know that Hal would be forever grateful to have darns in his socks that don’t look like great blobs, or patches on his trousers that inevitably begin to come loose after only a few weeks.”

  “That would be wonderful,” I replied, overflowing with gratitude…and relief. “Sewing is not so very difficult, after all.”

  “For you
, perhaps.” She held out her hand. “Shall we shake on it and seal the bargain?”

  I did not even stop to think. I took her hand and shook it heartily. Perhaps I would not have to worry about poisoning Corin with my cooking after all.

  “Now then,” Lynnis said, a twinkle in her eyes seeming to tell me that she had guessed at my thoughts. “Let us put together a proper meal for that handsome husband of yours.”

  CHAPTER 7

  It was nearly dark when Corin finally came home, his clothing stained with the juice of the grape clusters he had spent the day picking. Only that morning, I would have been dismayed by the sight of those stains, worrying as to how I would ever manage to get his garments clean again. But Lynnis had promised to help me with the laundry on the morrow, and I had no doubt that my capable new friend would have everything right as rain.

  Corin paused in the middle of the cottage’s main room and lifted his head to take an appreciative sniff at the air. The stew had been gently simmering over the fire nearly all day, and Lynnis had also helped me to bake a small loaf of bread, whose warm aroma joined with that of the stew to make a particularly toothsome smell.

  “Is that…?” he began, then stopped. Perhaps he feared if he asked a direct question about dinner, he would get an answer he did not like.

  “It is your dinner, my husband,” I said. “Beef stew and fresh bread. And there are apples and honey for dessert, if you have need of more than the stew and the bread.”

  Startled disbelief was clear on his features, but he merely smiled at me. “Well, then, such a splendid repast deserves a clean shirt. Let me go and change, Marenna, and then we will sit down to supper together.”